Recalling pirates of the radio waves

By John Mangan

April 5, 2009 — 12.00am

AS BRITISH actors Bill Nighy and Nick Frost swept through town last week promoting The Boat that Rocked, a movie about the halcyon days of "pirate" broadcasting in Britain in the 1960s, plenty of memories have been dredged up for Melbourne radio doyen Dean Banks.

The affable former 3AW breakfast presenter, who topped Melbourne's ratings with Ross Stevenson, began his career in 1970 on a bright yellow boat moored off the coast of Auckland in the Hauraki Gulf.

Dean Banks began his radio career in 1970 off the coast of New Zealand.Credit:Craig Sillitoe

In those days, a normal Radio Hauraki shift involved two weeks on board the good ship Tiri II in a cloud of black vinyl dust, as the record player needles, heavily weighted so the tossing of the boat didn't dislodge them, ground their way through the shipboard record collection.

"We'd weigh them down with washers, coins, various bits of lead, anything that would work," Banks laughs. "As a consequence, the needles would last for about one day, and the records would last about a week. You'd end a shift covered in vinyl filings!"

Advertisement

Countries such as Australia and the US never needed pirate broadcasting  there were always commercial licences available. But in Britain and New Zealand, the government was the only broadcaster, and when the BBC and NZBC lagged behind public taste, particularly in pop and rock music, privateers circumvented legislation by putting transmitters on boats and broadcasting from international waters, beyond the jurisdiction of the authorities.

These were the pirates, and Radio Hauraki enjoyed huge popularity.

Not that Banks, who had just arrived in New Zealand the previous day, knew what he was letting himself in for when he applied for a job.

"By chance, I heard the station on the radio, and looked in the phone book and saw they had an office near my hotel. I assumed they were a normal radio station."

He was offered the job on the spot, and slowly it dawned on him that this was no ordinary gig.

"All told, there were about eight of us on the boat at any one time," he says. "You had two weeks on, one week off. I learnt what a fo'c's'le (forward part of a ship) was  that's where I slept; there were four bunks in there." The boat had to have a master, an assistant captain and engineer, and a chef. "Let's amend that," Banks says. " and a cook!" Listeners in New Zealand could tell if someone on board was having breakfast: when the toaster was turned on, the record player would slow down.

When the engineer was tired and emotional, announcers would have to know how to replace the head gasket on the boat's generator, which Banks says was as temperamental as any 3AW ego.

Broadcasting may not have been the only illegal activity the boat was engaged in.

"A boat is not a bad stopping off point for other boats carrying certain cargo," he recalls. "There was always quite a bit of passing traffic. Ships would sound their horns, boats would pull up alongside. On weekends there'd be a party on board. I think a bit of contraband ended up in tape boxes flown back to the mainland!"

While the authorities occasionally jammed the pirate signal, they didn't try too hard to get Radio Hauraki off the air.

"After the station became legal and moved ashore, they discovered the boat had been moored inside the NZ limits all along, so it hadn't actually been in international waters at all!"